This week, for reasons best known to someone else, I sat down and wrote with surprising accuracy; the addresses of all the houses I have lived in since birth.
I never had that childhood home brimming with memories to cherish. That stable history of addresses, consisting of a couple of street names, that can be recalled with ease. I have had 18 homes to date. I have reached my 4th decade basking in my wealth of moving experience.
Part of the reason I have stayed in my current house so long, is that I can’t face another move. I have been here 5 years which is almost the longest I have ever stayed in one place. One previous address celebrated 6 years of my amazing company, which means that I have had 16 addresses in 29 years. Is that a lot? It seems a little excessive.
I became aware that my moving history was on the large side, when speaking to others who grew up in one house. They were becoming immensely stressed at their next move, which turned out to be their 4th ever. Their parents were still in the home that they had grown up in…I just can’t relate.
The stability of their situation is mind blowing for me. I look at it like a child gazing through a toy store window. Imagine, not moving every 18 months or so. Imagine having roots, neighbours you’re friends with. A school you start and finish. Imagine that…
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t look back with sadness. I’ve just realised that my normal was not normal at all. My delightful nomad lifestyle wasn’t everyone’s experience.
I love that my daughter only knows one home. I am hoping that our next move will be our last. That’s a scary thought. When I think of moving for the last time and finding our forever home, the feelings that flood my brain are bittersweet. Imagine finding or building your dream home and settling there; filling it with memories and watching your children grow. That very same beautiful thought makes me feel old, all too aware of what a forever home actually means
I guess I’m stuck between not wanting to keep moving and not wanting to move for the last time.
I look at my parents both hurtling towards retirement and the date they qualify for state pension. They are still in rented accommodation and having to make some serious decisions and choices about their forever situation. I’m worried for them. I’m frustrated that their bad financial choices have left them with limited options. I’m annoyed that my own rather questionable decisions have left me without any scope to help them.
18 Houses. Each new house offering up a blank sheet of paper to start afresh. A new start. A chance to do things different or better. A shot at learning the lessons from before. Did we not learn our lessons? Did we squander our chances?
I think about house 19 from time to time. Will it be the forever home? A step on the ladder? A stop-gap? Will it be close enough to my daughters’ next school? Will it be of any assistance to my parents and their future needs? Maybe 20 will be the golden ticket. Whatever happens, I hope I get to see it.
Choosing a home is a very visual experience but that’s a whole other thought process for another day. I will cross that bridge when I get to it.